Thud (25 page)

Brick became aware that he was being attacked. He stopped what he was doing and, with sparks going
fwizzle!
in his brain, looked down his
right knee. Some little gnome or somethin’ was attacking him wi’ a blunt sword and kickin’ an’ screamin’ like a mad t’ing. He put it down to the drink, like der feelin’ that his ears were givin’ off flames, an’ brushed der fing away with a flip of his hand.

Vimes, helpless, saw A. E. Pessimal tumble across the plaza, and watched the troll turn back to the clubbing at hand. But Detritus, arriving behind it now, pulled it around with one shovelsized hand and
here
came the Detritus fist, like the wrath of gods.

For Brick, everything went dar—

“Y
ou wish me to believe,”
said Lord Vetinari, “that Mr.
A. E. Pessimal
single-handedly
attacked a troll?”

“Both hands, sir,” said Vimes. “And feet, too. And tried to bite it, we think.”

“Isn’t that certain death?” said Vetinari.

“That didn’t seem to worry him, sir.”

Vimes had last seen A. E. Pessimal being bandaged by Igor and smiling in a semiconscious way. Watchmen were dropping in all the time to say things like “Hi, big man!” and slap him on the back. The world had turned for A. E. Pessimal.

“Might I inquire, Vimes, why one of my most conscientious and most decidedly
civilian
clerks was in a position to do this?”

Vimes shifted uncomfortably. “He was inspecting. Learning all about us, sir.”

He gave Vetinari a look that said: If you take this any further, I will have to lie.

Vetinari returned one that said: I know.

“You yourself are not too badly injured?” the Patrician said aloud.

“Just a few scratches, sir,” said Vimes.

Vetinari gave him a look that said: Broken ribs, I’m certain of it.

Vimes returned one that said: Nothing.

Vetinari wandered over to the window and stared down at the waking city. He didn’t speak for some time, and then let out a sigh.

“Such a shame, I think, that so many of them were born here,” he said.

Vimes stuck with saying nothing. It generally sufficed.

“Perhaps I should have taken action against that wretched dwarf,” Vetinari went on.

“Yes, sir.”

“You think so? A wise ruler thinks twice before directing violence against someone because he does not approve of what they say.”

Once again, Vimes did not comment. He himself directed violence daily and with a certain amount of enthusiasm against people, because he didn’t approve of them saying things like “Give me all your money” or “What are you going to do about it, copper?” But perhaps rulers had to think differently. Instead, he said: “Someone else didn’t, sir.”

“Thank you for that, Vimes,” said the Patrician, turning around sharply. “And have you found out who they
are
yet?”

“Investigations are continuing, sir. Last night’s affair got in the way.”

“Is there any evidence that it
was
a troll?”

“There is…puzzling evidence, sir. We are…assembling a jigsaw, you might say.” Except that we haven’t got any of the edges and it’d help if we had the lid of the box, he added to himself. And, because Vetinari’s face bore a hungry look, Vimes continued aloud: “If you’re expecting me to pull a magic rabbit out of my helmet, sir, it’ll be a cooked one. The dwarfs are
certain
it was a troll. There’s a thousand years of history telling them. They don’t
need
proof. And the trolls don’t think it was a troll but probably wish it was. This isn’t about a murder, sir. Something inside ’em’s gone click, and it’s time for all good men—well, you know what I mean—to fight Koom Valley all over again. Something else is going on in that mine, I know it. Something bigger than murder. All those tunnels…what are they for? All those lies…I can smell lies, and the place is full of them.”

“Much hangs on this, Vimes,” said Vetinari. “It’s bigger than you know. I have this morning had a clacks from the Rhys Rhysson, the Low King. All politicians have their enemies, of course. There are, shall we say, factions that disagree with him, his policy toward us, his conciliatory approaches to the troll clans, his stance on the whole wretched
Ha’ak
thing…And now there are stories about a troll killing a grag and, yes, rumors that the Watch has threatened the dwarfs…”

Vetinari held up a pale hand as Vimes opened his mouth to protest.

“We need to know the
truth
, Vimes. Commander Sam Vimes’s truth. It may count for more than you think. In the Plains, certainly, and much further. People know about you, Commander. Descendant of a watchman who believed that if a corrupted court will not behead an evil king, then the watchman should do it himself—”

“It was only
one
king,” Vimes protested. “It waasn’t a habit!”

“Sam Vimes once arrested
me
for treason,” said Vetinari calmly. “And Sam Vimes once arrested a dragon. Sam Vimes stopped a war between nations by arresting
two
high commands. He’s an arresting fellow, Sam Vimes. Sam Vimes killed a werewolf with his bare hands, and carries law with him, like a lamp—”

“Where did all that come from?”

“Watchmen across half the continent will say that Sam Vimes is as straight as an arrow, can’t be corrupted, won’t be turned, never took a bribe.
Listen
to me. If Rhys falls, the next Low King will
not
be one who is prepared to talk to the trolls. Can I make it simple for you? Those clans whose leaders have been dealing with Rhys will in all likelihood feel they have been made fools of, overthrow said leaders, and replace them with trolls too belligerent and stupid to
be
fools. And there
will
be a war, Vimes. It’ll come here. It won’t be a gang crumble such as you thwarted last night. We won’t be able to hold fast or stand aloof. Because we have our own fools, Vimes, as I’m sure you know, who’ll insist we pick sides. Koom Valley will be everywhere. Find me a murderer, Vimes. Hound them down and bring them into the daylight. Troll or dwarf or human, it doesn’t matter. Then at least we shall have the truth, and can make use of it. It is rumor and uncertainty that is our enemy now. The Low King’s throne trembles, Vimes, and thus do the foundations of the world.”

Vetinari paused, and carefully squared up the paperwork in front of him, as if he now felt he’d gone too far.

“However, obviously I do not wish to put you under any kind of pressure,” he finished.

In Vimes’s confused, lukewarm brain, one word bobbed to the surface.

“Crumble?” he said.

Lord Vetinari’s secretary leaned down and whispered into his master’s ear.

“Ah, I believe I meant ‘rumble,’ ” said Vetinari brightly.

Vimes was still trying to cope with the international news digest.

“All this over one murder?” he said, trying to stifle a yawn.

“No, Vimes. You said it yourself: all this over thousands of years of tension and politics and power struggles. In recent years, things have gone in certain ways, causing power to shift. There are those who would like it to shift back, even if it returns on a tide of blood. Who cares about one dwarf? But if his death can be turned into a
casus belli
—” here Lord Vetinari looked at Vimes’s sleepy eyes and went on, “—that is, a reason for war, then suddenly he is the most important dwarf in the world. When did you last get some proper sleep, Vimes?”

Vimes muttered something about “not long ago.”

“Go and have some more. And then find me the murderer. Quickly. Good day to you.”

Not just thrones trembling, Vimes managed to think. Your chair is wobbling a bit, too. Pretty soon some people will be saying: Who let all these dwarfs in here? They undermine our city and they don’t obey our laws. And the trolls? We used to chain ’em up like guard dogs, and now they’re allowed to walk around threatening real people!

They’d be gathering now, the plotters, the people who chatted quietly in the corner at parties, the people who know how to fashion opinions into knives. Last night’s little fray had been turned into a joke that had probably dismayed the party people, but you couldn’t do it twice. Once things began to spread, once a few humans had been killed, you wouldn’t need to talk behind closed doors anymore. The mob would scream on your behalf.

They undermine our city and they don’t obey our laws…

He climbed in the coach on legs that were only marginally under his control, muttered an instruction to head for Pseudopolis Yard, and fell asleep.

I
t was still nighttime
in the city of endless rain. It was never not
nighttime. No sun rose here.

The creature lay coiled in its alley.

Something was seriously wrong. It had expected resistance. There
was always resistance, and it always overcame it. But even now, when the invisible bustle of the city had slowed, there was no way in. Time and again it’d be sure that it had found a point of control, some tide of rage it could use, and time and again it’d be slammed back here, into this dark alley where the gutters overflowed.

This was not the usual kind of mind. The creature struggled. But no mind had ever beaten it yet. There was always a way…

T
hrough the ruin
of the world the troll staggers…

Brick lurched out of Dolly Sisters Watch house, clutching his head with one hand and, in the other, holding the bag that contained as many of his teeth as Detritus had been able to find. The sergeant had been very decent about dat, Brick thought. Detritus had also explained to him exactly what would have happened to him had his second blow hit the human, graphically indicating that finding Brick’s teeth would have been secondary to finding a head to put them in.

He’d gone on to say, though, that there might be a place in the Watch for any troll who could still stand up after a head full of Big Hammer, and maybe Brick might like to conduct his future behavior with an eye to this.

So, Brick thought, insofar as the term could be applied to any brain activity within two days of Big Hammer, der future was looking so bright dat he had to walk along wid his eyes almost shut, although dat was probably der Big Hammer again.

But—

He’d heard the other trolls talking. And the watchmen, too. All dis stuff about a troll killing a dwarf down in dat new mine. Now, Brick was still certain he hadn’t killed no dwarf, even after half an ounce of Scrape. He’d gone over and over it in what currently remained of his mind. Trouble was, der Watch had all dese tricks dese days, dey could tell what a guy had for dinner just by looking at his plate. An’ he’d lost a skull down dere, too, he was sure o’ dat. Like, dey could jus’
sniff
it and know it was him! Except it
wasn’t
him, right? ’Cos dey said der troll dropped his club, an’ Brick still had his club, ’cos he hit dat top watchman wi’ it, so maybe that was what dey called an Ally By? Yes? Despite the cerebral gurgling noise of the Big Hammer draining away from his higher brain functions, Brick suspected that it wasn’t. An’ anyway, if dey lookin’ for a troll what done der deed, and dey find out I was dere, lost a skull an’ everytin’ an’ I say, okay, I was dere but I never walloped no dwarf, de’ll say, ho yus, pull der other one, it is havin’ bells on.

Right here, and right now, Brick was feeling a very lonely troll.

Dere was nothin’ for it. Dere was only one person who could help him w’ dis one. It was too much t’inkin’ for one troll.

Slinking through alleys, pressed against walls, keeping his head down, avoiding every living creature, Brick sought out Mr. Shine.

A
ngua decided
to go straight to Pseudopolis Yard rather
than a closer Watch house. That was HQ, after all, and besides, she always kept a spare uniform in her locker.

What was annoying was that Sally walked so easily in six-inch heels. That was vampires for you.
She
had taken hers off and was carrying them; it was that or turn an ankle. The Pink PussyCat Club had a fairly limited choice of footwear. There wasn’t much to choose from in the way of clothing, either, if by clothing you meant something that actually made an attempt to cover anything.

Angua had been rather surprised that the stage wardrobe had included a female Watch outfit, but with skimpy papier-mâché armor and a skirt that was much too short to be any protection. Tawneee had explained, rather carefully, that men sometimes liked to see a pretty girl in armor. To Angua, who’d found that men she was apprehending never looked very pleased to see
her
, this was food for thought.

She’d settled for a sequined gold dress, which just didn’t work. Sally had picked something simple and cut to the thigh, in blue, which, of course, had become stunning the moment she’d put it on. She looked
fabulous.

So when Angua strode into the main office, slamming the big doors back, and there was a derisory wolf-whistle, the unwise watchman found himself being pushed backwards until he was slammed against the wall. He felt two sharp points pressed against his neck as Angua growled, “You
want
a wolf, do you? Say no, Sergeant Angua.”